Circumstance
by Snoball13
Summary: Oneshot. Colby gets a blast from the past, but not nearly in the way he would have expected.


**Circumstance**

Colby sighed, leaning against the bar. It had been a while since he'd been in here, and it brought back old memories.

He hated being alone in here, but he hadn't been on speaking terms with any of the guys for a few days, and it would have felt even worse to be _home_ alone on a Friday night.

If only it were as easy as just apologizing to them. Not that he probably would have anyway – he was too damn proud to do it – but it would have been easier knowing it was that simple, if he could just get over himself.

But after all that he'd said, it wasn't that simple. It would take a lot more than a few words to solve the problem he'd created.

All in all, he felt like a freaking idiot. It was like the Chinese spy fiasco all over again, except then, he'd known that he hadn't done anything more than his job. This time, it was his fault, completely his fault, and nothing could hide that.

Colby put his face in his hands and rested his elbows on the counter.

"You okay, sugar?" a voice asked. He looked up into the crystal blue eyes of the bartender, a girl who couldn't have been more than 22 at the most.

"Yeah," he said, knowing full well that his face told a different story. He changed his story a bit. "Just a headache."

She gave him a flirty smile. "You want some aspirin?"

"No thanks." In a place like this, the chances of any medicine actually being what the bottle claimed were slim.

"You sure?"

He was getting annoyed with this kid, but was saved from having to answer by a commotion at the table in the back corner.

One woman was sitting with three men, and they were laughing, leaning toward her. Whatever the joke was, she obviously didn't think it was funny.

Strangely, something about the woman seemed familiar, but Colby couldn't put his finger on it. He shrugged it off, knowing that he didn't really care. He was just looking for a distraction.

His eyes were trained on the woman as she said something he couldn't hear before grabbing her purse off the bench next to her and rising to leave.

She was halfway to the door before one of the guys with her called out, "Aw, come on Mik, don't go!" Colby was struck once again by the ring of familiarity. The woman ignored her friend and kept on walking.

There was a scraping of chairs as the three men stood up, following her out the door. Colby felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and knew by some sixth sense that something was about to happen, and it wouldn't be good.

Mentally cursing his conscience, he stood and dropped a ten on the counter. "Keep the change," he told the girl behind the bar vaguely. She frowned at him, but he didn't give her a second glance as he exited swiftly after the four.

As he got outside, he could hear the men around the corner, in the alleyway. He quietly made his way to the corner, peeking around just enough to see if they were facing him.

They weren't. Instead, they were surrounding the woman, who was backed up against a wall.

"We just want to have some fun," one of them was saying. Colby sized the three of them up. None of them were quite his height, but they were all bulked up with muscle. He suspected steroids might have been involved, judging by the size of them.

"Well, we obviously don't share the same idea of what fun is anymore," the woman said. There were traces of fear in her voice. One of the men took a step forward and she said, "Come on Ian, don't do this. You're not like this, I know you're not."

It was then that the pieces fell into place for Colby, as the same voice came to him through memory, just as the woman's bright green eyes rose to meet his over the shoulder of the biggest creep.

His mental cursing doubled. This was no longer a matter of saving a stranger; now it was saving an almost-forgotten love from the distant past.

Ah, hell. Why did that have to sound like something out of a really crappy chick flick?

* * *

Mikaela was in deep. Not just up-to-her-neck deep. This was I-can't-see-the-freaking-surface deep. Translation: she was screwed.

She'd just been in the grocery store a few days ago and run into three faces from the past. Her old college buddies had been glad to see her, and they'd arranged a night at a local bar to do some catching up.

Except now they were getting a little more than friendly.

She'd tried just leaving the bar, telling them she had a headache and was going home, maybe she'd see them around.

They didn't buy it. She didn't blame them; it was a pathetic excuse.

Still, there was nothing in the world that gave them the right to have her backed against a wall in the alley behind the bar. And yet they did.

She was preparing for the worst, even though she wasn't quite sure what 'the worst' really was, when over Ian's shoulder she saw a black silhouette step into the alleyway.

Before she could stop herself, her eyes widened, but her ex-friends didn't notice. Or maybe they just thought it was fear. It didn't really matter either way.

But what the hell was with this random stranger, anyway? He was just kind of standing there, staring. If he was going to make himself helpful, which it looked like he actually might be able to do – he was tall, and even cast in shadow Mikaela could tell that he had some significant muscle to him – then he should get to it. And if he wasn't, then he should keep moving, instead of sticking around to enjoy the show.

Then she was distracted by Aaron's hand reaching for her. She didn't let it reach its destination, stomping her stiletto down on his instep. He howled with pain and backhanded her.

The next thing she knew, there was a loud crashing sound, and Aaron dropped like a rock. "You really shouldn't have done that," a low voice growled, and Mikaela looked up to see the man from the shadows. There was something vaguely familiar about that voice, but before she could place it, Ian took a menacing step toward him.

"Neither should you. This ain't none of you're business."

The man raised the pipe that must have been what knocked Aaron out. He seemed prepared to swing it again, but before he could, Ian grabbed the other end and wrenched it out of his grip.

"Not so tough now, huh tough guy?" Ian and Brett laughed at the use of the cliché remark.

"Yeah," Brett said. "You've got nothing to stop me from doing _this_."

At 'this', he leaned down and pressed his lips against Mikaela's roughly, forcing his tongue into her mouth. Acting on instinct, she bit down hard until she tasted blood.

He yanked back, quickly, before a loud thud rang through the alley. He staggered back, and she jumped out of the way, turning to spit the blood out of her mouth.

"I wouldn't be so sure," the man said. He sounded pretty confident, seeing as it was two on one. In all honesty, he probably saw it as two on two, but Mikaela would be the first to admit that she hadn't been in a proper fight since she was at school.

Brett rubbed the side of his head, looking murderous. Then Ian swung the pipe around, giving the man only barely enough time to duck. Ian swung again, but this time the momentum of his swing sent the pipe flying out of his hand, and he swore loudly.

Mikaela found herself hoping – if quite unreasonably – that now that all three of them were unarmed, they would stop fighting.

Oh, how wrong she was.

It turned out that when one was armed and others were not, it caused caution on the part of the _unarmed_ person. But when the odds evened out more… well, the results weren't pretty.

Ian and Brett moved to be on either side of the man, and both lunged at the same time. He tried to move backwards, but was too slow. Ian's fist caught the side of his head at the same time that Brett's went straight to his gut. He doubled over, and Ian slammed down on the back of his head, sending him crashing to his knees.

Somehow, the man seemed more comfortable on the ground; he rolled to avoid another blow, and then swung one leg around to bring Brett down. From there he moved to be above Brett, who was struggling to get up. He was getting his own punches in when Mikaela saw a glint of metal.

Ian had a knife.

She screamed out and dove forward, trying to distract him. She knew he was ruthless, and she was scared to see what extents he was willing to go to for a bit of 'fun'. His arm came around without even turning around, catching her off guard as it rammed her across the collarbone and sending her reeling back into the wall.

Her head cracked against the brick as sharp pain shot through her head. White light exploded behind her eyes, and for a moment, she was blind.

She wasn't sure how long that moment lasted, but the next thing she was aware of was Brett on the ground in front of her, unmoving, and the stranger was backed up against the wall with Ian standing before him.

Ian's knife was in hand, and he seemed to have already slashed into the man multiple times. There was blood everywhere, and he seemed to be less amused now. A bruise was blossoming above his eye, and his nose was bent awkwardly, probably broken.

Based on the look on his face, his next blow wouldn't be as friendly.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mikaela spotted the pipe that the man had used earlier to knock Aaron out. She might not have as much brute strength, but she could at least put enough into it to give him a headache tomorrow.

She grabbed the pipe and moved up behind him as quietly as possible. It probably wouldn't have mattered if she'd run at him screaming bloody murder; he was so absorbed in torturing this stranger that had come to her rescue that he wouldn't have processed it fast enough to stop her.

She was stronger than she thought.

The blow vibrated through her arms, and the loud sound that resulted sounded like something out of a cartoon. Ian collapsed on the spot just as the stranger slid down the wall. He looked pretty bad.

After waiting a moment to see if Ian would get up, Mikaela crouched down next to the man. He was still conscious, if only barely.

"Can you walk?" she asked quietly.

He nodded faintly, just a slight jerk of the head. Very slowly, almost excruciatingly so, he pushed himself up the wall until he was standing.

Mikaela frowned at him. "I think I should take you to a hospital."

He shook his head. Again, only slightly, but the message was clear enough.

"Can I at least take you back to my apartment to get you cleaned up? I'm not sure where else to take you…."

Another nod. He tried to take a step forward, but as soon as he left the support of the wall, his legs started to give. Mikaela caught him and pulled his arm around her neck so that he could lean on her.

The whole way to the car, she could tell that he loathed using her for support, hated that he needed the help. He was carrying himself as far away from her as possible. She wouldn't have noticed, except every time he got too far away, he would stumble and have to move closer to her.

After what probably could have been forever, she got him to the car, and managed to get it unlocked and him in the front seat without too much trouble.

It was a pretty silent trip back to her apartment. After a few minutes, he was asleep, and she wasn't sure if maybe that was a bad thing. He hadn't hit his head, though, as far as she knew, so a coma was unlikely. Then again, she was no medical expert.

Once she was parked, she looked over at him. He didn't look like it would be easy to wake him up, and she didn't really want to anyway. Instead, she got out of her car and pulled out her cell phone.

She hit one of the first numbers in her contacts.

The voice that answered sounded annoyed. "Mikaela, what the hell are you calling me at one o'clock in the morning for?"

"Sorry. Why, you got a hooker up there or something."

"No way, I got a girlfriend I intend to keep."

"Sure you do. Look, Jake, can you come down to the parking lot? I need some help?"

"With what?"

"I'll show you when you get here."

"What, you gonna go all secretive on me now?"

"Nope. It's your motivation. You're curious, I know it." She hung up with that. She had no doubt in her mind that he would come down.

Lo and behold, less than five minutes later, the front door to the building opened to reveal a tall man walking out. He reached her car in a matter of seconds.

"Alright, Mik, what's so important that you had to wake me up for?"

She motioned for him to be quiet and led him around to the other side of the car. "I need you to help me get him up to my place. I can't carry him by myself."

When he caught a glance of the man's face, Jake flipped. "Holy fucking shit, Mikaela, what did you do to the man?"

"I didn't do anything!" she hissed. "And be quiet, I don't want to wake him up."

"I'm not about to become an accomplice to some kind of whacked-out murder, am I?"

"No! I just want to help him out, but he didn't want to go to a hospital."

"I'll take your word for it. I better not get in trouble for this."

Mikaela just rolled her eyes. "All you have to do is get him upstairs." She opened up the car door and let Jake reach across to undo the seatbelt. He hefted the stranger out of the car and got one of his arms around his neck.

"This is the weirdest thing I have ever done," Jake complained. "You're so gonna owe me for this."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever, just get on with it, okay?"

He groaned as he started to half-drag, half-carry his burden toward the building. Mikaela grimaced in sympathy for both men at the awkward sight.

They made it all the way up to Mikaela's apartment without anyone seeing them, which both could agree was a good thing. Jake was worried that someone was going to be able to provide witness against him – although for what he wasn't sure – and Mikaela was just wondering how in the world she would explain the bizarre scene to anyone.

As soon as Jake had the man lying down on Mikaela's old couch, he headed for the door.

"Hey, Jake?" she called after him. "Thanks."

"Yeah," he said, grinning despite himself. "No problem."

"See you around."

"Yeah, see ya," he called. "Wouldn't wanna be ya," he muttered to himself.

"I heard that!"

He didn't respond, just laughed as he closed the door behind himself.

Mikaela sighed, and turned to watch the man on her couch for a minute. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she had no idea why.

Frowning, she walked to the bathroom to get a washcloth. If she could get some of the blood cleaned off of him, she might be able to do something to help him. She had some emergency medical training, and she was sure she'd be able to remember something of it.

She rummaged through the cabinet above the sink until she found a bottle of rubbing alcohol, then returned to the small living room. Light probably would have helped, but she still didn't want to wake him up.

Kneeling by his head, she poured a bit of alcohol onto the rag and began to blot at a nasty-looking cut across his cheekbone. As she worked, she thought through any reason she might recognize this man.

Most of the blood was cleared off of his face before she leaned in closer to take a look at the cut.

This better angle was all she needed to recognize him. This was no stranger. No, this was a face she had never expected to see again. After all, he was supposed to be dead.

* * *

The first thing Colby was aware of when he woke up was that he was lying down. Then the pain set in, and he couldn't focus on anything other than the impression of a knife lodged in his head.

Eventually, he got used to it enough to catalogue everything else around him while still pretending to be unconscious.

He was lying down, which he already knew, probably on some kind of couch, because his right arm was pressed against a cushion, and someone was pressing something warm against his face.

That was when he opened his eyes.

They immediately fell on the woman hovering over him, especially her eyes. Their bright green seemed to glow in the dimly lit room.

"Hey," she said softly. "How do you feel?"

He tried to shrug and winced. "I've been worse."

"Sad part is, that's probably true." She paused, looking him over. "Any chance you could sit up?"

She was looking at him strangely, but he couldn't place the emotion behind it. Unfortunately, it wasn't a good time to ask; he wasn't sure he would like the answer anyway.

Realizing she was waiting for an answer, Colby slowly pushed himself into sitting position. He focused on not letting on to how much pain he was in. Something was wrong with his arm, he realized, but she still didn't have to know how wrong.

She looked like she was the one in pain now, and she bit her lip in restraint as her hand moved toward him as if to help, and then back again, uncertain.

He knew what was going through her head. It happened with his team all the time; when something happened to one of them, everyone felt guilty over it. Now she was feeling guilty that he was hurt, because it had been her friends that caused it.

He chuckled to himself mentally. He had spent way too much time around psychologists if he could think that through in even that much detail without realizing he was doing it.

Then again, it might be that more often than not, he was the one they were feeling guilty over. He did have a slight talent for stumbling into trouble when he least expected it.

He was caught off guard when the next emotion that passed through her eyes was nervousness.

"Umm…" she said awkwardly. "I, uh, kind of need to look at that arm." She didn't say anything more, just trailed off vaguely.

Oh. She needed him to take his shirt off. It was just like Mikaela to find that weird. Again chuckling to himself, he got to work figuring out how he could do that with the least pain.

After a while, he managed, cursing his luck at having chosen that night out of all of them to wear long sleeves. That was, of course, amidst some generalized cursing as well.

Colby looked up at Mikaela again, only to wish that he hadn't. She had once again fixed him with that intense gaze full of unrecognizable emotion, and he wanted desperately to ask what was wrong. It was no longer guilt bothering her, he could tell.

Finally, he couldn't help himself. Whatever had changed in the years since they'd last seen each other, he had to know. So he asked.

"Are you okay?"

Mikaela ducked her head, blushing. She looked kind of like a kid caught in the act of breaking the rules.

"Yeah, I…" she stopped, knowing that he wasn't buying it. "No."

He was waiting for her to elaborate, not really sure what to say. Maybe it had been too long. He hoped it was just in their heads.

"They told me you were dead," she told him quietly.

It took him a moment to realize what she meant. He'd been a dead man multiple times, and miraculously pulled through every time.

She was referring to the only time he hadn't been anything close to dead.

It was easy for him to forget the time, all those years ago in Afghanistan, when he'd been declared MIA after a mission gone bad. They'd waited long enough to see if he'd turn up, and when he didn't, they declared him dead.

It was the only time he'd been _legally_ dead.

It had never occurred to Colby that Mikaela had called when he was missing; he had been preoccupied with being a prisoner at the time, and he was declared alive again when his kidnappers were apprehended. But the damage had been done.

She'd usually called once every two months, and when the next call didn't come, he had called her instead. The only answer he got was from her own commanding officer, telling him that she had been moved to a secure location without any chance of communication.

"Just MIA," he said as she used a bloody washcloth to clean his arm. He paused before saying, "They told me you'd been moved to high-security."

"You make it sound like I was in prison," she teased, but her heart wasn't in the jest; her voice was still immeasurably sad.

He reached up with his good hand to touch her face. Her eyes flicked up in surprise, and he let the hand drop back to the couch.

She started speaking again. "I kept thinking it must have been a mistake, because you _couldn't _be dead. I knew we didn't have incoming communications, but I couldn't help hoping that I'd get a call telling me that you were alive after all."

It wasn't much, but it meant the world to him that she had said it out loud. He wished it was that easy for him, a simple matter of telling her how he felt, but it seemed that nothing would ever be simple for him again.

He found himself thinking back to how they had been before he had been shipped off.

They had only ever been friends, always hovering on the edge of more, but knowing that it was forbidden among students at the Academy, which was what they were. And then he'd been told that he was being put on active duty. From there, they had kept up with phone calls. There wasn't time for much else.

Colby pulled his hand down over his face. It had been twelve years since they'd seen each other, ten since they'd spoken. Was there even a chance that they could go back to being friends, just like that?

He was distracted by her fingers brushing his cheek, and this time it was his eyes that snapped to meet hers.

"How's that feeling?" she asked, pulling her hand back a bit slower than he had.

"Not so great," he admitted. Had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have, but she had always been able to read him; she wouldn't have believed him anyway if he'd lied.

She stood slowly, saying, "I'll be right back – don't move."

Like he could have gone anywhere anyway. She smiled sadly as she left the room, and Colby knew in that moment that if everything else had changed, there was one thing that hadn't: he still loved her as much as he had twelve years ago.

* * *

When Mikaela hit the kitchen, she braced her arms against the counter and closed her eyes.

What was wrong with her? It had been ten years, they'd both grown up since she'd last seen him, they didn't even really _know _each other anymore. So how was it possible that he still had that same hold over her? That just looking at him, hearing his voice, could send her over the edge?

Because somehow, it did. One glimpse of those dark green eyes was enough to leave her gasping for breath. One word had her melting in a puddle at his feet.

Not that it mattered. They'd been nothing more than friends before, and that was all they would be now. And she could hold herself together. She'd done it before, and years of experience had improved her.

She took one last deep breath before heading to the freezer to retrieve an ice pack. She had seen the faint bruise forming around the gash when she'd cleaned it, but now it was getting worse.

When she got back, all traces of her momentary break-down in the kitchen were gone. It wouldn't do anybody any good to let him see what she really felt.

She knelt down in front of him again, resting her weight on her heels so that even when he was sitting, he was taller than her. Gingerly, she reached up and pressed the ice bag against his cheek.

"Better?" she whispered.

"A bit." They both seemed to think that if they spoke too loud, the night might shatter, and it would all be a dream. Mikaela certainly felt like it couldn't be real.

Her eyes caught his again, green on green, and something in the unfathomable depths of his gaze tore down every wall she had thrown up in the last few hours to protect her heart.

The hand holding the ice dropped, but neither of them seemed to notice. Mikaela would never be able to explain why, but whatever it was, it ripped the idea of caution out of her mind, and she leaned up to press her lips to the torn flesh.

When she pulled back, he was looking at her in utter confusion. It wasn't angry, or even awkward, as she might have imagined. Just confused.

That was about when the enormity of what she had done sunk in, and she broke the gaze, cheeks blazing. She was tempted to apologize for her own stupidity, but she couldn't get herself to say anything. The words simply couldn't make it from her mind to her mouth.

It hit her that she couldn't apologize because she wasn't sorry. They would never have to see each other again after that night if he didn't want to, and it at least got it out there that she still cared. A lot more than she should, but she cared.

Her train of thoughts was interrupted as his fingers brushed against her cheek, lifting her chin to look at him.

She was surprised by the look in his eyes even more now than she had been before. Confusion had been replaced by intensity, and his eyes seemed to question her for an eternity before his hand slid back behind her neck and he slowly, carefully, leaned down to kiss her.

The kiss was soft and fleeting, and when it broke, both immediately pressed their lips back together. Mikaela rose up on her knees to be closer to his height, and his free hand went to the small of her back. She ran her hands through his hair as she moaned into the kiss, pressing herself against him. They had both been waiting for this for almost fourteen years, and they wanted to make the most of it.

Neither of them wanted to surface for air, but Mikaela felt it when he flinched, and pulled back quickly. "Colby?" she said breathlessly. "Colb, maybe we shouldn't do this."

His brow furrowed. She realized that there could be about a thousand different intentions behind her words, and bit her lip. "Colb?" she asked again.

The confused look was back, but this time it was less innocent, instead infused subtly with traces of pain that had nothing to do with the fight.

"Are you with someone?" he asked suddenly.

"Wha –? No." She would have asked why, but it was painfully obvious. "I just don't think… I mean…." Mikaela took a moment to settle herself after the startling question. "You're hurt, Colb. It just doesn't seem like the best time."

It sounded lame even as she said it, but he leaned back into the couch, accepting it. "I guess."

Mikaela rose enough to sit on the couch sideways, facing him. "I'm serious, Colby. You scared me out there. I've seen men get shot and look better than you did."

He chuckled darkly. "Trust me, Kael, I've been worse off. I've died before, no joke. And almost died since. This is nothing in comparison."

As much as this news bothered Mikaela, it didn't really surprise her. Colby had always had a knack for landing himself in impossible situations. Apparently, that was one more thing that hadn't changed in the last decade.

"That doesn't mean I'm not allowed to worry," she told him, frowning. He'd never been very concerned with his health either, always very much the macho tough guy.

She'd been the only one that didn't buy into the act back then.

She still didn't.

* * *

He should have known. Colby felt like a total idiot. What the hell had inspired him to kiss her in the first place? They'd been friends, always, and no matter how much he might have always wished it was more, he'd had no false allusions as to how she felt.

So why had he done it?

Now he had gone and made it awkward, as if it hadn't been bad enough when she'd just seen him as back from the dead.

It was the most frustrating thing, and for some odd reason, he found himself thinking back to a time when Larry had referred to women as uncharted territory, or something like that, an enigma. But that was exactly how he felt right then.

He wished desperately that he could be inside her head, hearing her thoughts, no matter how disappointing they might be. For once, not knowing wasn't better; it was a thousand times worse than _knowing_ the worst.

"I know you too well, Colby. The stupid tough guy act doesn't work on me, it never has. You're hurting, Colb, and I can see that."

He glanced over at her for a moment, and there was genuine concern in her eyes. He looked away again almost immediately, instead staring down at his hands, which he suddenly seemed to find very interesting.

She sighed in frustration and said, "Come on, Colby, _talk_ to me. I feel like I don't know you anymore. It's been so long…."

He was being stubborn now, and he knew it. Mikaela obviously did too, and Colby knew that he wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer.

Finally, she stood to leave. She had given up trying to get through to him. Suddenly, that revelation broke through to him and he realized what was bothering him.

"I gave up on you," he blurted, and she turned to look at him, startled. She wasn't quite sure what he meant, and truth be told, neither was he. He just went with the flow of it, let the words explain themselves.

"I never knew that they told you. I lost track of time when I was a prisoner, and when I got back, there was so much to do that it just never occurred to me. I knew, after I called, that you had graduated, and sent to a zero-com base, so I knew I wouldn't hear from you because of it.

"You'd been put into the thick of the action, and you didn't have time for anything else. Looking back, I think I resented it. I'd always found time for you, for friends, even when I was shipped off, and I think I abandoned. I gave up on ever hearing from you again. I just catalogued you as a thing of the past."

Mikaela was staring at him, completely unsure of what to say to all of that. He realized that it was probably the longest speech she'd ever heard him make, now or in the past.

Then she stepped back toward him and dropped back onto the couch to pull him into a rare hug. She had never been a huggy kind of person, but here she was, arms around him. It was like they were back at the Academy again for a fleeting moment.

Colby wrapped his arms around her in response, and he felt something wet hit his shoulder. Was she _crying_? Wonderful. That wasn't completely crazy. Larry had been right, he confirmed; women were a whole different world of human.

Again unsure of what to do, he made do with reaching up to stroke her hair. Unfortunately, this pulled at his injured muscle, and a hiss of pain escaped him.

Mikaela pulled back to look at him. "I should probably get that bandaged up now. I kind of forgot…" she trailed off sheepishly.

Colby was about to tell her not to worry about it, that it wasn't that bad, when two things stopped him. The first was that he knew she wouldn't believe him anyway. The second was that he glanced down at his arm and noticed that blood was streaming down his arm in little rivulets again.

"Shit," he said, reaching across with his other hand to staunch the flow. He winced at his own touch, and it didn't escape her notice.

"I'm really sorry about that. It was stupid of me; I should never have agreed to see them in the first place." There was that guilt again.

"Kael?" he said, and she turned her focus back to him questioningly. "Shut up."

She looked offended before he said, "It's not your fault, any of it. If I was afraid of getting hurt, I wouldn't have gotten involved."

"I still shouldn't have been out with them."

He rolled his eyes. "How were you supposed to know they would take a turn for the violent?"

"It wasn't a turn," she mumbled. "They've always been like that."

"And they were your _friends_?"

She looked almost… ashamed. "They were my partners in crime. Back when I was a teenager, at least."

"Partners in crime?" Colby asked incredulously. He hoped that it was just a figure of speech, but he could tell by the look on her face that it wasn't.

"It's not really something I like to talk about. I haven't done anything like I used to for fifteen years. I turned over a new leaf when I joined the Academy." She looked so vulnerable, and it was hard to think that she had ever been a criminal. He was about to ask what she had done when she said, "Can we not talk about this right now? Please?"

Colby just nodded. He was still trying to process the though of a Mikaela that wasn't obsessed with doing the right thing. At least this kind of explained why she _had_ been so obsessed with it fourteen years ago.

"I'll be back in a minute," she said. She headed for the kitchen again, and Colby's eyes followed her the whole way out of the room. Twelve years hadn't changed her much; her hair was still that perfect chocolatey-brown with the slightest hints of red. She hadn't even changed the style. It fell in waves down her back, and it swished with every step.

As she came back holding a roll of gauze, he looked more closely. She had filled out a bit over time, but she was still slender. Her face had matured more too. She looked more like a woman than she had at twenty, when she still had a distinctly teenaged look.

She smirked a little when she saw him looking her over, and he smiled back. She was still his Kael, overall.

"What's so interesting?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said innocently.

"Sure," she snorted.

Oh yeah. Definitely still his Kael. But he wouldn't want it any other way.

* * *

When Mikaela walked back into her small living room, she noticed Colby looking her up and down. She laughed a little to herself. "What's so interesting?" she teased cheekily.

"Nothing." He was so full of it.

"Sure." She didn't really mind. He wasn't blatant about it, like some were, and she knew that part of it was that he was noticing little changes that time had brought about. If only a very small part. Very, very small, judging by the look in his eyes.

She sat down next to him again, and got to work cleaning up the blood that had slowed to a slow trickle. When it was clean enough, she tore off a strip of gauze and taped it over the wound.

"There you go! All patched up."

Colby laughed at her, shaking his head. "You're terrible at the perky nurse thing."

She shrugged. "Eh, it was worth a try." She tossed the roll of gauze back onto her little table and leaned back into the couch.

"What a night," Colby said, echoing her thoughts exactly.

"Yeah," she sighed. "What a night."

**Author's Note:**

**Well, that's that, after much painstaking effort on my part. It's probably the longest single piece I've ever written, if you don't count that it's all split up. This is a stand-alone chapter, kind of the set-up for the rest of the story. Which, by the way, is going to seem kind of irrelevant to this piece. Still, I got going and couldn't stop. Until I post more, this is going to be marked as a oneshot. It could be, really, but I like Mikaela too much to leave her in one little piece only. So yeah, like I said, that's that. Until then, signing off,**

**Snoball13**


End file.
